


our hearts are heavy burdens we shouldn't have to bear alone

by AlyssaTheGeek



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Friends to Lovers, M/M, More tags to be added, sort of??
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-06
Updated: 2015-12-06
Packaged: 2018-05-05 07:27:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,582
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5366450
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlyssaTheGeek/pseuds/AlyssaTheGeek
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>George Washington is dead. The United States, still in its infancy, can hardly stand the shock of the blow, especially when John Adams escapes to foreign lands and the Speaker of the House threatens to take his own life rather than risk assassination. Fear, hysteria, and paranoia are running rampant as the new President steps into power, trying desperately to protect those who are close to him while also doing what is best for his first love - his country.</p>
            </blockquote>





	our hearts are heavy burdens we shouldn't have to bear alone

George Washington was dead.

The more times Alexander repeated the phrase in his head, the less true the words seemed to be. It didn’t make sense – _everyone_ loved him. Well, everyone tolerated him enough that they wouldn’t send an assassin to kill him in the middle of the night. But that was what had happened; one night George went to bed, and the next morning he didn’t wake up. Three bullets, two to the head and one through the heart, caused his untimely demise. Come to think of it, it was probably just the first bullet that had caused him to die. So not only was the murderer crazy for wanting to kill George fucking Washington, he was crazy for shooting three times when once would have sufficed. Three gunshots were a lot harder to miss than one gunshot, especially on a quiet mid-September night.

All logic aside, the visceral reaction the country as a whole was having was…alarming. People openly wept on the streets, and many stores had closed the day the news had reached them. Some were still closed, stubbornly disbelieving that Washington was dead. People were pouring in from all over the country to see if they could attend the funeral, see the body. The first President of the United States of America had been assassinated, and it was a grotesque spectacle that fascinated every citizen.

John Adams (damn him to hell, Alexander thought bitterly) had disappeared from Peacefield three days later. He had taken with him only a single horse and five thousand dollars, leaving behind a flabbergasted wife who had a small fortune stolen from her. With Adams’ departure to who knows where, the country was left without a leader. Fredrick Muhlenberg, the Speaker of the House, threatened to do the same. Adams had never dreamed he would ascend to Presidency, and Muhlenberg was just as flabbergasted. At this point, a farmer from Georgia could have entered the President’s House and declared himself the President, and Congress probably would have been so relieved that they would have accepted it.

Luckily for the country, it was not a farmer from Georgia who had finally taken the yoke of the presidency upon his shoulders. Who other than Alexander Hamilton, the driven young New York delegate, would be brash enough to put himself next in line for assassination? And who other than Alexander would be talented enough that his presidency might not bring the country to complete ruin? Such was the way that Alexander Hamilton became the second President of the United States. Congress, in a rash act of support and in an effort to keep Hamilton from rethinking his decision, allowed him to assign his Vice President. So, in the very same hour that Alexander became the President, Aaron Burr, unbeknownst to him, was appointed Vice President.

The President’s House was larger than Alexander had expected. At first he had refused to inhabit it; Washington had been alive just a week ago, had lived in the house just a week ago. You wouldn’t have known it, looking at the place. The bedroom had been scrubbed clean, with not even a speckle of blood marring the white-painted walls. There weren’t any papers in the bureau in the corner, and the furnishings were minimal, at best. Even the smell was wrong – instead of the acrid odor of lye soap that surely should have accompanied such a thorough cleaning, the room smelled like violets and rosemary. Someone had made quite the effort in making the house a clean slate.

Eliza had murmured something about a headache and gone to lay down in one of the other bedrooms – there were six of them, all of them on the third and final story of the house – which was probably for the better, considering that an irate Aaron Burr stormed into the house without so much as an announcement of his arrival. Alexander knew it was to be expected, seeing as the entirety of the Congress was buzzing with the news of his choice for his right hand, but he had hoped that Burr would have been just a tad bit less angry, and maybe even a little, God forbid, happy?

“Hamilton.” Burr was, it appeared, a step above irate. Furious? Homicidal? Homicidal seemed to be right. Alexander wondered idly if they should amend the Constitution to specifically say that if the Vice President murdered the President, then the former would not be able to take the position. It seemed like a good safety net, especially with the venomous glower Burr was giving him.

“Aaron Burr, sir.” Alexander smirked. Of all the things about Alexander that Aaron hated, it was his tendency to call him ‘sir’. And, of course, the rhymes. They never stopped. Ever.

“I heard the news.” Burr growled. Hamilton figured it would be best to stop him before he could gain any more momentum; a shouting match heard from every street in Philadelphia was not a fortuitous way to begin a working relationship.

“That much I can infer, sir.” Just because he didn’t want to piss Burr of any further didn’t mean that he was above rhyming. “But I need you to hear me out, Mister Burr, sir. I know it’s difficult for you to concur, sir, but you’re the Vice President I’d prefer, sir. I need a right hand man I can trust, not an amateur, sir.” Alexander looked up at Aaron with big doe eyes, and blinked once. “Can I trust you, Burr?”

The lack of rhyme at the end was jarring to Burr, and he was left reeling for an answer. His first instinct was, of course, to say yes. No one wants to admit himself untrustworthy. But Alexander was…He was Alexander. He expected no less than full commitment, and being the Vice President of the United States was definitely a job that shouldn’t be undertaken lightly. Plus, it meant spending a lot of time with Alexander, or, even worse, the cranky representatives in Congress. It was giving Burr a headache already.

The silence hung in the air even more heavily than the scent of the flowers, until Burr finally let out a mighty sigh. “Fine.” He snapped. “But I have conditions.” Alexander nodded. Conditions were to be expected when one drags another into a position of power.

“First.” Burr began, holding up his index finger. “Talk less, smile more. I _mean_ _it_ , Alexander.” He added when the latter batted his eyelashes innocently. “Talk to me before you talk to the House or the Senate or the people. We can’t afford to screw this up. Second.” He held up a second finger. “I live here. I don’t have a house in Philadelphia and I don’t want to go buying one when I’m not going to have use of it in two years.”

“You can have the guest suite.” Alexander interrupted. “It’s on the end of this hallway, on the left.”

Burr nodded. “Third.” Another finger. “You don’t go anywhere alone. I don’t want you to die too, because then I get stuck with this mess. Take Mulligan or Lafayette or whoever the hell you want. Someone who knows how to operate a gun.” This list, Alexander thought, was rather exhaustive. “Fourth.” Hopefully this was near to the end of Burr’s demands – he was running out of fingers. “When you inevitably regret this, don’t come crying to me.”

Without so much as a parting word, Burr exited the room, slamming the door behind him. Alexander sat at the chair in front of the bureau, and stared down at the weathered oak wood. He would not, Alexander thought stubbornly, regret this. He remembered Washington’s words with a stunning clarity, and closed his eyes so he could summon the man’s voice in his head.

“History has its eyes on you.”

Yes, it most certainly did. Opening his eyes and letting out a breath, Alexander stood up again. He had a lot of work to do before his meeting with Congress the next morning, but he ought to let Eliza know that he would not be coming to bed until very, very late. If he went to bed at all, that was. He had two, maybe three, hours of daylight left, and more candles than he knew what to do with, so the likelihood of him sleeping at any hour was probably lower than he was going to lead Eliza to believe.

He knocked softly on the door to the bedroom that Eliza was occupying for the time being, and she invited him in with less than a half second of pause. Eliza was sitting up in the bed, a book spread across her lap.

“Feeling better?” Alexander asked, sitting at the foot of the bed.

“Much, thank you.” Eliza responded. “And you?”

“Oh, I’m still terrified.” Alexander laughed. “But this might be my only opportunity to change the world.”

“Alexander.” Eliza replied tenderly. “You’ve already changed the world.”

It wasn’t enough. He didn’t dare tell her that, because then they would argue, as they tended to do when it came to his ambition, but it was the truth. He hadn’t done _enough_ , not yet.

“I’ll be to bed late.” Alexander told his wife softly. “I have to speak the assembly tomorrow, and I’ve not yet prepared.” Eliza nodded from her spot on the bed. It was nothing new. She turned back to her book, and Alexander took that as a cue to leave.

He had a speech to prepare for.


End file.
